


Not Entirely Unexpected

by emmagrant01



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco is a Quidditch star, Harry is a has-been, M/M, Romance, Written Pre-Deathly Hallows, old fics, set post-series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-14
Updated: 2006-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4244574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmagrant01/pseuds/emmagrant01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[This is an OLD FIC I'm posting to AO3 from LJ. Sorry for the notifications!]</p><p>Years after the War, Draco Malfoy is a successful professional Quidditch player, while Harry Potter is unhappy and alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Entirely Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Written for The Quidditch Pitch’s Demelza House fundraiser, at the request of eireinn, who requested: “Quidditch and/or Parselsmut would be marvellous! I love fluffy/romantic fic, but a bit of angstyness is good as long as it ends way happily.” I’m not sure if this is actually what you had in mind, but it was the way the story wanted to go. I hope you like it!  
> Betas: Thank you to charlotteschaos and jedirita for their insightful comments on an earlier draft of this fic.
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://emmagrant01.livejournal.com/276376.html).

 

~*~

  
  
Harry inserted the key card into the door’s slot again, but the voice repeated, “ _Sorry but your key seems not to work. Are you sure you’ve the correct room?_ ”   
  
“Yes,” Harry groaned, closing his eyes. After a hell of a week away from home, all he really wanted was to lie down and sleep a bit, maybe put on the Wireless and listen to something soothing, then order room service. He didn’t feel like going out again.  
  
But instead, he was stuck in the corridor of this inn in the middle of nowhere Derbyshire, with his briefcase and his eyelids getting heavier every minute. And now he had to go all the way back down to the front desk to get his room key respelled. _Again_.   
  
There was nothing else for it, though. He’d tried to apparate in on Tuesday night, but wound up with a very nasty bruise to the head from the warding spell on the door. He turned back towards the lift with a sigh.  
  
It sped him back down to the ground level, the doors opening into the inn’s pub. When he’d been through just minutes before, it had been nearly deserted, but now it was full of people, laughing and chattering and levitating what looked like large trunks into a precarious stack by the bar.  
  
Harry swallowed. He was uncomfortable in crowds since the War, particularly raucous ones like this. He wrinkled his nose and slunk towards the front desk, where the innkeeper was arguing with a large burly wizard.  
  
“It’s the only inn with vacancy within ten miles of the stadium, and seeing as the Lockshire’s banned us from the property—”  
  
“Because of the state in which your boys left the guest rooms!” the innkeeper huffed. “Not to mention the unsavory types they attract.”  
  
“They’re _boys_ , not criminals!” the burly man replied. “So they have a few pints and carouse with the witches. It’s to be expected when they’ve had a season like this.”  
  
The two went on arguing, but Harry stopped listening, because he’d finally recognized the insignia on the trunks and on the backs of some of the mens’ jackets: the Hettlesby Hornets.  
  
They weren’t just any Quidditch team – they were not only the absolute worst team in their division (which most Quidditch columnists blamed on their tendency to party more than practice), but the team whose star player and seeker was none other than Draco Malfoy. Harry cringed. He hadn’t seen Malfoy in person in years, certainly not since he’d become sort-of successful and rather famous. And Harry… well, hadn’t.   
  
He had emerged from the War something of a hero and a celebrity, but much of what he’d done was classified, and so he’d faded into obscurity with astonishing speed. He’d struggled for over a year to get his life back on track, but with most of his friends dead and the opportunity to feel normal again nearly non-existent, he’d disappeared into a quiet Ministry desk job.   
  
Which was how he found himself here in Derbyshire, at a dingy inn with the Hettlesby Hornets. And _Malfoy_ , of all people. He scanned the room, but Malfoy was nowhere in sight.   
  
“Sir? May I help you?”  
  
Harry turned back to see both the innkeeper and the burly man, whom Harry assumed was the Hornets’ manager, staring at him. “Oh, yes, sorry.” He produced the faulty key card from his pocket. “It’s stopped working again.”  
  
The innkeeper scowled and took it from him. “It shouldn’t stop working so often. I’m not sure what sort of spells you’re exposing it to, but you ought to be more careful.” He held the key out at arm’s length to examine it through the bifocals perched on the end of his nose, and then tapped it with his wand. “That should do you.”  
  
“Thanks,” Harry replied, trying to ignore the gigantic roar that had just gone up on the other side of the pub. “I’m leaving tomorrow, so I’m sure it won’t happen again.”  
  
“Say,” the Hornets’ manager said, staring intently at Harry, “aren’t you—”  
  
“Good evening,” Harry said, and turned away before the man could finish asking the question. The lift door was open and he sprinted for it, dodging a young man signing autographs for a gaggle of starry-eyed local girls. The doors were just starting to close when Harry slipped inside and leaned against the wall of the lift.   
  
The lift’s other occupant leaned forward to push a button on the console. “Which floor?” he asked.  
  
Harry froze. He knew that voice all too well. He turned his head and forced himself to look, only to see that he was indeed in a lift with none other than Draco Malfoy.   
  
They stared at each other. Malfoy looked shocked to see Harry standing there, to the extent that Harry began to wonder if he looked worse than he usually did. Malfoy looked better in person than he did in the papers, with his long hair tied back at the nape of his neck and his stylish clothes draped over a very athletic frame. Harry felt like a slob in comparison, in his dingy business robes (which were a few days beyond needing washing) and his hair as unkempt as always. The years had been kind to Malfoy, but not so kind to Harry.  
  
 _At least I haven’t got fat_ , Harry thought, and almost immediately cringed. Why should he care what Malfoy thought, anyway? He swallowed and clutched his briefcase to his chest before forcing himself to break the silence. “Four, please?”  
  
Malfoy blinked at him. “What?”  
  
Harry leaned over and pushed the button for the fourth floor himself, then stepped back over to his side of the lift and tried not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. Malfoy kept staring at him, though.  
  
“Potter,” Malfoy said, as though he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.  
  
Harry tried to smile, but it came across as more of a grimace. “Yeah. What a coincidence, eh?”  
  
“It’s been years, and I… you…” Malfoy seemed genuinely flustered by Harry’s presence.   
  
Thankfully, the lift slid to a stop and the doors opened onto the fourth floor. Harry nodded and managed a proper smile this time. “Nice seeing you then. Good luck in the match.”  
  
“It was this afternoon,” Malfoy replied.  
  
Harry stepped out into the corridor. “Well… congratulations, then?”  
  
“We lost, actually,” Malfoy said, and before Harry could respond, the doors slid shut.  
  
He walked down the corridor to his room feeling a bit like he’d been hit with a stunning spell. Draco Malfoy was the last person Harry had expected to run into like this, particularly because he was a celebrity (and this wasn’t exactly the sort of inn one expected to see celebrities in). He was certainly more famous than Harry was these days. Harry Potter was a washed up has-been, not good for much more than the occasional interview around the anniversary of the end of the War. And he’d turned down the last couple of those anyway. He’d managed to fade into obscurity quite nicely, and he was happy that way. Well, perhaps not _happy_ , but not suicidal, at any rate.  
  
He slid his key card into the slot, and was met with a cheery greeting as the lock clicked open. “ _Welcome back, Mr. Potter! I do hope you’ve had a productive day. The housecleaning staff have straightened your room and replaced your towels, and--_.”   
  
Harry closed the door, toed off his shoes, and flopped onto the bed. Malfoy had actually seemed a little freaked out by seeing Harry. Harry allowed himself a small smile at that. With any luck, they’d never see each other again.  
  


~*~

  
  
“No room service?” Harry sputtered at the disembodied voice coming through the wireless’s speakers. “I’ve ordered room service every night this week!”  
  
“Yes, but that was when the inn was nearly empty,” a witch’s voice replied. “It’s like a madhouse down here in the pub, and we can’t spare anyone to take food to your room. I’m afraid you’ll have to come down here and get it.”  
  
“Never mind,” Harry hissed, and turned the knob back to _wireless_. The voice of the Wandering Warblers’ lead singer filled the room.  
  
 _\--en you said you’d never  
Felt so good before  
How was I to know  
You like being a toad, oh baby--_  
  
Harry switched it off and turned to face the bed. It was just now growing dark out, and he wasn’t sleepy. He could skip dinner tonight – but he’d skipped lunch today, and he was getting rather hungry.  
  
He sighed. He was just going to have to go down there. Maybe it wouldn’t be too crowded.  
  
It was quite crowded though: every table was full and stacked high with plates and glasses, and there were more people than were probably technically allowed by the fire code. The noise was truly stunning, and as Harry wound his way around the side of the room, he caught snatches of conversation he’d rather not have heard.  
  
“—d you see that bird in the press box? What a set of—”  
  
“—newest model, mate. So fast it’ll—”  
  
“—wanna go up to my room? I’ve got porn and—”  
  
“—still be itching after five days? You think I should—”   
  
“—as big as it looks? I hope so because—”  
  
Harry spotted an empty booth in the far corner, and headed for it at a clip. He caught the barmaid’s attention with a wave and then slid into relative privacy. The noise seemed dimmer here, and it was a moment before he realized he was in one of the silenced booths, usually reserved for business meetings.  
  
The barmaid didn’t seem bothered though. She took his order with a smile and a wink and slipped away. Harry sank into the bench and tried to relax. He was leaving tomorrow morning, thank Merlin. He didn’t know if he could bear being around all of these people for another night.  
  
“Mind if I join you?”  
  
Harry’s eyes flew open to see Malfoy’s head poking through the silencing barrier around the booth. It caused a bizarre warping effect around his neck, as if his body was underwater. Before Harry had a chance to protest, Malfoy slid through the barrier and into the booth across from him. The corners of his lips were quirked up into something akin to a smirk, though it seemed more amused than arrogant.   
  
“My teammates are a bunch of noisy twats, aren’t they?” Malfoy asked. It seemed a rhetorical question, so Harry only stared at him in response. “You’re a friendly one,” Malfoy continued. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and you can’t even say ‘Good evening’?”  
  
“Good evening,” Harry said. “I’m planning to have a quick dinner and leave, so—”  
  
“No worries,” Malfoy said, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve no interest in hanging around here either.”  
  
Harry frowned, unsure what that last had meant. He opened his mouth to say more, but the barmaid appeared at the side of their table.  
  
“’Ere you are, love.” She set a pint of ale before Harry, and cast a surprised glance at Malfoy. “What’ll you be ‘avin’ then?”  
  
Malfoy gestured at Harry’s pint. “The same. And no food – I’m not hungry.”  
  
The barmaid nodded and disappeared again. Harry took a large gulp of ale. He wondered if he could get rid of Malfoy without actually having to ask him to leave. He really despised conflict.  
  
“So, Potter,” Malfoy began, the tone of his voice positively gleeful, “How have you been keeping yourself busy lately?”  
  
Harry shot him a glare over the rim of his glass. “Working,” he replied. “Which is more than you can say, from what I hear.”  
  
Malfoy laughed, to Harry’s surprise. “Why d’you think I turned pro? Sure, the side sucks, but the pay is good. And the seeker never gets blamed for the losses.”  
  
“Oh really?” Harry couldn’t resist an incredulous look.  
  
Malfoy leaned forward. “I _always_ catch the snitch. Sometimes I have to do it early to keep the other guy from getting it. But it’s not my fault if the rest of my team are a bunch of wankers who can’t manage to score.” His expression had changed to something nearly malicious. “But I always catch it. I’ve never been beaten.”   
  
Harry smirked. “Except by me.”  
  
Malfoy’s grin, oddly, grew wider. “Except by you. And I have to say I wouldn’t mind being beaten by you anytime.”  
  
It was a moment before Harry recognized the innuendo. Fortunately, the barmaid arrived to deliver Harry’s food and Malfoy’s pint just as he began to blush, and Malfoy was momentarily distracted.  
  
“Did you ever think of playing?” Malfoy asked, studying the ale glass as if looking for spots.  
  
“Not really,” Harry replied with a shrug. It wasn’t true, though – he had thought of it, but the idea of being in front of so many people had paralyzed him. It was just another dream he’d let go of years ago.  
  
“That’s too bad,” Malfoy said. He leaned back and sipped his ale, watching Harry. “You were quite good, you know.”  
  
Harry ate his stew in silence, trying to ignore the way Malfoy was staring at him, but it was difficult. Whenever he looked up from his plate, Malfoy’s eyes were fixed on his, almost seeming to be calculating. “What are you doing?” he sputtered at last.  
  
“Nothing,” Malfoy replied, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Am I bothering you?”  
  
“Yes,” Harry replied, and swallowed another third of his pint in one go. “I don’t like to be stared at.”  
  
Malfoy smiled, but didn’t look away. “I suppose I can’t blame you.”   
  
“Why are you doing this?” Harry asked with an exasperated sigh. “Why are you sitting here, talking to me? Watching me?”  
  
Malfoy shrugged. “Why not? I’ve nothing better to do tonight.”  
  
“Oh?” Harry retorted. “There are a dozen witches out there who would probably love to entertain you for an evening. All you’d have to do is smile at them, and—”  
  
“Maybe a witch isn’t what I’m interested in,” Malfoy interrupted. “Maybe I’m more interested in you.”  
  
Harry dropped his fork. It clattered to the grimy floor below, sounding as if it had skidded under his seat. He could have retrieved it and cleaned it off with a flick of his wand, but that would somehow have been more humiliating than dropping it in the first place.  
  
“Me?” he managed to ask.   
  
“All I want is a fuck, Potter,” Malfoy replied. “Nothing more.” He raised an eyebrow.   
  
Harry nearly choked on his ale. He wasn’t used to people being so blunt, and it made his mind spin. For a moment, he was certain Malfoy was taking the piss – he couldn’t possibly be serious. He could have anyone at all, so why Harry? Of course, excluding Malfoy’s teammates and the innkeeper, there weren’t so many men about.  
  
“Desperate, are you?” Harry quipped, and tried to smile. It sounded pathetic even to him, though.  
  
Malfoy looked affronted. “I’m entirely serious, Potter. Half my team would love to be in your shoes. I could have my pick right now, if you aren’t interested.”  
  
Harry swallowed a large gulp of ale to cover up his surprise. Even though Malfoy was undoubtedly exaggerating, Harry had to admit he was flattered. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he found himself actually considering the offer. It had been a while since he’d had sex with another person, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t still think about it. In fact, he thought about it quite a lot, but opportunities almost never presented themselves. Well, other than the creepy and borderline stalkerish opportunities, at least. Until now.  
  
But _fuck_ , this was _Malfoy_ , and he didn’t like him any more than he had done at the end of the War, when Malfoy had emerged from whatever rathole he’d stayed hidden in, claiming that he’d been hiding from Voldemort and his own family under pressure to join the Death Eaters against his will. His sob story had been the talk of the Wizarding World for months. He’d wound up with a lucrative contract to play Quidditch professionally, while Harry had wound up in the psychiatric ward at St. Mungo’s, trying to exorcise the demons of his own War years.  
  
Harry gritted his teeth. The past was in the past. It was nearly ten years ago now, and he shouldn’t hold a grudge forever. Malfoy had done nothing of substance during the War for either side, and even though Harry resented him for that, he also couldn’t blame him. If Harry’d had a choice, would he have done differently? He wasn’t sure.  
  
It was just a fuck. He could use a fuck, truth be told. Especially with someone as pleasant to look at as Malfoy.  
  
But…   
  
Harry sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, it’s not that I’m not interested, I just—”  
  
Malfoy shrugged. “Suit yourself, Potter. I’m on the fifth floor, if you change your mind.”  
  
Harry dug into his pocket and pulled out a few galleons, enough to cover the cost of his meal and the two pints. He placed them on the table and, shooting Malfoy an apologetic look, got up and left the booth.  
  
He made his way back to the lift, only half-hearing the raucous laughter around him. He didn’t look back to see if Malfoy was watching him go, just in case he was. Or in case he wasn’t – either way, Harry didn’t want to know.   
  
He stepped into the lift and leaned back against the wall. The doors slid shut, taking the sound of happy people with them, and Harry felt his heart sink in his chest. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just let go of things every now and then?  
  
The doors opened again on his floor, and Harry stepped out into the corridor. He stood before the door to his room for nearly a minute, not wanting to go in – but not wanting to go back downstairs either.   
  
_That was the right decision_ , he thought, pressing his forehead against the door. _You don’t need to complicate your life_.  
  
He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and dug through it for the key card. If it didn’t work, he’d have to go back down to the lobby and have it re-spelled. He’d probably see Malfoy again, and – he could still change his mind, couldn’t he? His fingers closed around the card, and he pulled it out, holding his breath. He swiped it through the card reader.  
  
 _Welcome back!_ the door exclaimed in the same cheery voice as always. It went on to tell him that the staff had been in to turn down the bed, but Harry didn’t listen. He just stood in the doorway, frowning.   
  
He didn’t want to be here alone, and the moment he walked through that door, he would lose his nerve.  
  
He turned around and walked back to the lift. Malfoy was probably still in the pub, and Harry might be able to catch him before he’d chatted someone else up.  
  
Malfoy wasn’t in the pub, though, to Harry’s disappointment. He made three circuits of the room, hardly noticing the crowd or the noise, but there was no sign of him.   
  
Harry turned back to the lift with a heavy sigh. He could knock on doors on the fifth floor – there were only four rooms per floor anyway – but that seemed fairly pathetic. Besides, if Malfoy had already invited someone else up, Harry would only feel like a fool for interrupting.  
  
He sighed, and pressed a hand against his forehead. He was too late, as usual. He was afraid of such stupid things, of seizing opportunities, and he had to get a grip on himself. He couldn’t go on living like this. He’d not been like this before the War, and he didn’t want to be like this any more. He took a deep breath and released it.  
  
The lift doors opened, and Harry stepped forward, only to collide with Malfoy coming out.  
  
They blinked at each other for a moment, and then Malfoy grabbed Harry by the front of his robes and tugged him into the lift. Malfoy pressed a button on the panel, and the doors closed. The lift started to move.   
  
“I—” Harry began, and then gasped as Malfoy moved towards him, pressed him back against the wall of the lift with hands against his shoulders, and stared at him.   
  
Harry stared back, expecting to be kissed, but instead saw Malfoy watching him almost quizzically. He wanted to say something about it, but his lips wouldn’t move. He could only look at Malfoy with what he fervently hoped wasn’t a stupid expression.  
  
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Malfoy whispered, so close Harry could smell the ale on his breath. “It’s been a fantasy of mine, I have to admit.”  
  
Harry swallowed, and managed to find his voice again. “Really?”  
  
Malfoy leaned closer and his lips almost touched Harry’s. “Really,” he replied.  
  
The lift stopped, and the doors opened onto Harry’s floor. Malfoy stepped back and Harry led him down the corridor, his heart pounding. As they approached the door of his room, Harry held his breath, hoping the key card would work. If it didn’t he would probably lose his nerve.  
  
It worked, though, welcoming him back with the same cheery greeting it had chirped a few minutes ago. Harry practically charged through the door, barely registering anything around him. All he heard was the sound of the door closing again, of Malfoy’s footsteps behind him, and then felt hands on his waist. Malfoy’s lips pressed against the back of his neck, and he shivered.  
  
Oh, god. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he?  
  
“Shhh,” Malfoy said, and his hands slid up to pull Harry’s robe from his shoulders. Harry felt the weight of it lift off of him, then felt Malfoy’s hands reach around to unfasten the buttons on his shirt. It was odd to be undressed from the back like this, but Harry was glad he didn’t have to look at Malfoy. Maybe he wouldn’t have to look at Malfoy at all.  
  
The shirt was slid from his shoulders, and Malfoy’s lips planted wet kisses at the base of his neck and across one shoulder blade. Malfoy’s hands moved to Harry’s hips, and then one slid around to cup Harry’s groin. Harry groaned before he could help himself and let his head fall back against Malfoy’s shoulder. His cock seemed to grow instantly hard under Malfoy’s fingers, something that Harry felt oddly embarrassed about. He didn’t want Malfoy to think he was desperate. Even though he was.  
  
Those fingers worked him through several layers of fabric, and Harry was soon nearly humping Malfoy’s hand in need of more contact. The fingers moved to unfasten the fly of his trousers, and Harry felt a twinge of excitement. He could almost pretend it was someone else – anyone else – whose hands were pushing his trousers down now, wrapping long cool fingers around his shaft and stroking so slowly he had to grit his teeth in frustration.  
  
“I’ve always wanted to see you like this,” Malfoy whispered in his ear. “Completely hard and leaking and… god…” That tongue flicked against Harry’s earlobe, and Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head.  
  
He didn’t say anything out of fear he’d say something stupid. He bit his lip instead and squeezed his eyes shut. Malfoy’s hands were a little rougher than his own, but it felt good. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched by someone else.  
  
“Sit,” Malfoy said, releasing his prick and pushing him toward the bed. Harry’s trousers were still around his knees, but he didn’t have a chance to step out of them before he was tumbling back onto the bed. Malfoy’s hands hooked behind his knees and pulled his hips to the edge of the bed, and it was about then that Harry realized what was going to happen next.  
  
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a blow job. He’d certainly not had one like this, as Malfoy was good at it – better than Harry could ever have expected. The sight of that blond head bobbing at his crotch was probably the most erotic thing Harry had seen, well, _ever_ , and he managed to push himself up to sitting so he could have a better view.  
  
Malfoy glanced up at him and winked, then when back to work, his mouth warm and soft, and his tongue far more flexible than Harry thought should be humanly possible. Harry’s breathing was ragged now, and he slid one hand around the back of Malfoy’s head. Malfoy made a moaning sound when Harry pushed his head down further, as if he liked it, so Harry pushed harder. Malfoy shifted his position a bit, and Harry felt his cock slide into Malfoy’s throat. Malfoy swallowed then, and Harry’s mouth fell open. He’d not known that sort of thing was possible and _holy hell_ how could that feel so good?   
  
Malfoy came off and sucked the head hard, his teeth grazing the foreskin. He wrapped one hand around the base of the shaft and squeezed, and Harry gasped. It had gone from gentle to rough in the space of a few seconds, balancing somewhere between pleasure and pain – and Harry was starting to see stars. He didn’t even have the presence of mind to shout out a warning; he just came, harder than he remembered coming in a long time.   
  
Malfoy sucked his prick until Harry had to push him away, and then stood and unfastened his own trousers. Harry was still lightheaded, but Malfoy’s cock was suddenly being pushed between his lips, before he had a chance to register what it was that Malfoy wanted.  
  
He’d never done this before, and he wasn’t completely sure he would have offered to do it, had he been given a choice. But it wasn’t so bad, having a cock in his mouth. He had to work out how to do it and breathe at the same time, but he found he actually liked the way that hardness felt under his tongue.   
  
Malfoy’s hands clenched his head, and he pumped shallowly into Harry’s mouth, not giving him much opportunity to do anything but keep his teeth out of the way and suck. Harry clenched Malfoy’s arsecheeks with his hands, and was rewarded with a moan. He rather liked the sound of it. He may not know how to give head, but he wasn’t completely inexperienced. He stroked the base of Malfoy’s cock long enough to get his fingers wet with his own saliva, and then reached behind Malfoy again.  
  
“Oh, fuck _yeah_ ,” Malfoy hissed as Harry pressed a wet finger into him. It was something Harry always liked to do to himself – he liked two fingers in his arse while he wanked, twisting and stroking in and out, in time to the rhythm of his hand on his prick. Malfoy seemed to like it too: his thrusts had become erratic and his hands clenched Harry’s hair to the point of pain.   
  
Harry steadied Malfoy’s prick with his free hand and sucked hard, trying to move his mouth in time with the fingers fucking Malfoy’s arse. Malfoy made a strangled sound and stilled, and it wasn’t until Harry’s mouth was full of come that he realized he hadn’t really thought this all the way through. He squeezed his eyes shut and managed to swallow, trying not to think too hard about what he was doing. Choking on Draco Malfoy’s spunk would be a fairly humiliating way to die.  
  
He didn’t choke, though, and while the taste left in his mouth wasn’t entirely pleasant, it wasn’t unpleasant either. Malfoy pulled away and collapsed next to him on the bed, scrubbing at his face with his hands. Harry stared at Malfoy’s softening dick for a moment, stunned.   
  
His buzz was wearing off, and his mind was spinning. What the hell had just happened? Why had he thought this was a good idea? Part of him wanted to freak out and apparate far, far away. But oddly, another part of him wanted to curl up against Malfoy and go to sleep. Harry frowned.   
  
“Do you mind if I crash here?” Malfoy asked. He opened one eye, as if not really wanting to look at Harry either.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Harry replied. His voice sounded fairly calm, which surprised him. “I mean, no problem. Yeah.”   
  
Neither of them moved for a moment. At last, Malfoy kicked off his jeans, then yawned. “Planning to join me? I suppose the gentlemanly thing to do would be to sleep on the sofa, but it’s your bed, after all.”  
  
Harry stared at him for a full second, and then did something he hadn't done for ages: he laughed. Malfoy gave him an odd look, which made Harry laugh even harder. It was a moment before he could collect himself enough to speak.  
  
“I think we blew past _gentlemanly_ when we sucked each other’s pricks,” he said, unable to keep himself from grinning.  
  
Malfoy shrugged and closed his eyes again. “Speak for yourself, Potter. Cocksucking is an ancient and noble art. Quite gentlemanly, in fact.”  
  
Harry was still grinning as he kicked off his own trousers and slid under the sheets with Malfoy. He lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling for nearly a minute, not sure what to say or do or think. He could only describe what he was feeling as something akin to _happiness_ , and it was almost too much to process. It was probably better not to think about it at all – or else he’d end up thinking about when they could do it again.   
  
The happiness started to slip a bit.  
  
“You know,” Malfoy said, turning onto his side to face Harry, “when I said before that it was just a fuck, I didn’t mean just _one_ fuck.”  
  
Harry turned to look at him. “Oh?”  
  
Malfoy’s lips quirked into a smug smile. “Our next game is in Norwich day after tomorrow. If you wanted to pop up, I could get you a box seat.”  
  
Harry snorted. “As if I’d want to go all that way to watch your pathetic team suck at Quidditch?”  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes, but he didn’t seem to be offended. “You say _suck_ like it’s a bad thing.”   
  
Harry felt a pleasant twinge in his belly. “You have a point.”  
  
Malfoy scooted closer and pulled Harry into a kiss – their first kiss, Harry realized after a moment. Malfoy’s mouth was warm and soft, and that talented tongue slid against Harry’s own, almost teasingly. He moaned into Malfoy’s mouth and rolled them over, pressing Malfoy into the mattress. He felt himself getting aroused all over again, to his surprise.  
  
Malfoy’s arms snaked around him, and Harry melted against him with a happy sigh. He could use more of this in his life. And if someone like Malfoy was offering, Harry would be stupid not to take him up on it.  
  
When they broke the kiss, Malfoy grinned up at him, his eyes sparkling. “Or you could just skip the game and wait for me in my hotel room. I have a feeling I’ll need cheering up.”  
  
“I can do that,” Harry said, planting little kisses along Malfoy’s jaw. “Are you awfully depressed about today’s horrid loss? Perhaps you need a bit more cheering up before you leave in the morning.” He pressed his renewed erection into Malfoy’s thigh, surprised at his own boldness.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes widened, as did his smile. “As a matter of fact, I just might get suicidal if I don’t get a good cheering. Or three.”  
  
“Then I’ll see what I can do,” Harry replied, leaning down to kiss him again.  
  
He had no idea where any of this would go, but for now, it didn’t matter. Harry Potter’s very bleak life had just taken a turn for the better. Things could only go up from here.  
  
So to speak.  
  


~ _fin_ ~


End file.
